A Flame That Would Never Come
by Aronoded
Summary: Barely Implied Slash : AU : Dinendal/Erestor : What happens when the powerful will of one, disrupts the innocent life of another? My muse pictures this.


Disclaimer: Owned characters belong to owners. I make no money.  
Notes:   
-Angst : AU : LIGHTLY Implied Slash : This is dreamed up by my muse. It is by no means meant to reflect accuracy to Tolkiens work.  
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Dedication:  
For Jay Bird. Because you understand, and love him as much as I do.  
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
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A Flame That Would Never Come  
By Aronoded  
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He was alone by a silken stream when Varda found him. His hair hiding his face like a   
curtain of sunbeams, as he leaned out, far reaching from the rock he knelt on, and into   
the water to capture a passing leaf. On the leaf huddled the smallest butterfly, and with   
hushed and soothing whispers, he cupped his hand over it, and took it to a stump that   
waited, silent and safe, inland from the water.  
  
She thought Dinendal lovely from first sight, and the depth of his blue gray eyes made her   
heart ache with the task she had to do. His every motion spoke of gentleness, and timidness,  
and all that he did was saturated with an appreciation for all living things. In his heart   
he carried all the stories he'd ever heard, and a hope that someday, he would find a library  
big enough to carry all that he hadn't yet known. He loved completely, and without   
question, and though he'd known abandonment at a very young age, he'd always known hope.  
  
She could feel him the way no other would ever have the opportunity to. She knew all the   
things he held deep inside. Things that no other would ever know. She knew the dreams he was  
waiting to share, though the one he waited to share them with, would never know him to have  
the chance to hear them. She knew the fears that lingered within him, waiting to be   
engulfed by a flame that would never come  
  
Because Dinendal was alone in a way no other had ever been alone. His soul was now solitary,  
and while other souls had been solitary before it, his had not been made to endure alone.   
It endured only with the knowledge that somewhere out there, there existed another, and that  
the other waited for him as he waited for them. They were connected...even as they lingered  
far away.  
  
But the other soul no longer looked for him. The other soul no longer waited, for the soul   
had been claimed by the only being powerful enough to mimic his own. And that being held   
firm to that resolve, even as he was cast away from his realm, and the heart that once   
belonged to the gentle elf Dinendal, now beat for the crafty elf that was once known as the   
Vala, Irmo.  
  
That left Dinendal incomplete...That left him with no path to follow...and over short years,  
the elf would slowly feel, and become confused by, the emptiness that would seep into his   
heart. Even as Dinendal wouldn't know why, his soul would pine for the love it lost, even   
before it could be found.  
  
That he should ever have to endure any of it left her ill at ease. And, at first, the Vala   
made to perish him; a hero on the battle field. But Dinandal was more then a warrior.   
Dinendal didn't long for the notoriety. Dinendal was a quiet spirit, content to linger in   
silence. Content to listen to nature. Content to hear the songs of the birds. He loved his   
home. And while he would die to defend it, it was in the depths of the wood that he found   
his peace. And there it would be that he found his light put out.  
  
***   
  
In the leaves he lay, his golden head resting on the smooth surface of a stone as his eyes   
sat fixed on the butterfly he'd saved. The wings of the little creature fanned slowly,   
inward and outward, drying the water that'd misted over their fragile form in the breeze   
that blew gently about them. In his hands, between his gentle fingers, Dinendal held a tiny   
bloom of Elanor, testing the dexterity of the golden petals as he imagined them to be like   
the butterfly's wings.  
  
And then...something changed.  
  
He couldn't explain why he suddenly felt so sleepy. It seemed a comfort over took him as he   
lay there, that he was surrounded by a melancholy warmth. His eye lids felt heavy for the   
first time, and when he closed them, he told himself that it would only be for a minute.   
Just for a minute...  
  
He could see visions of elves before him, existing in dreams. His sister was there, and as   
he called out to her, she couldn't hear him. But he could feel happiness around her, and she   
was laughing, being chased by a little elf boy that somehow he knew to be her own. Dinenthel   
would be fine. Dinenthel would endure.  
  
Lothlórien was fading away, and his vision followed his people over the mountains and to the   
Haven of Imladris, and before him spanned a large library full of books and he longed to   
read them, to touch their spines with his finger tips. But nothing seemed to glow as bright   
to him, as the elf that sat still, and sleeping in a chair near an arched window. An elf   
with hair as black as the inky night, and eyes that were as gray as slate rock.  
  
Dinendal longed to touch him but, when he reached out with his trembling fingers, they   
passed through the elf's form as though his own lacked solidity. But, within him a great   
shudder of emotions quaked: sorrow, intrigue, confusion, and love. But he could get no   
closer then this, because he was shut out. The elf wasn't his to touch.   
  
He raised his fingers to his cheeks then, feeling a wetness that lingered there. And when he  
pulled his hands back to examine them, the tears were silver, and they glittered with the   
light of the stars, and he knew they weren't his own; For he was cradled against the breast   
of Elentari, and she was guiding him away from this place, from this elf, that felt like   
home to him.  
  
'Please don't take me away from him,' he wanted to say, but he only found that he no longer   
had a voice. And Varda strove to comfort him, pressing a kiss to his brow.  
  
"He would have loved you, if he'd had the chance."  
  
It had to be enough.  
  
***  
  
Over long years, Dinenthel never talked about the day she'd found her brother dead near the   
stream they'd often played beside as children. He'd been curled up as though he were being   
cradled, a tiny butterfly fluttering about his calm face. His features were serene, and upon   
his brow glimmered the softest glow of a stars kiss. His fingers held a tiny bloom of   
Elanor, and she'd taken it from him, and lay beside him for many nights in sorrow.  
  
On the morning of the third day, she'd awoken to find him gone, and in her hand lay the   
bloom still alive. She'd twined it into her hair, and and she'd worn it home with her.  
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The flower never died. 


End file.
